


Under the Influence

by caswell



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, OH ALSO HOMOPHOBIA HOW COULD I FORGET THAT, Recreational Drug Use, ah yes another sadboi jeremy fic enjoy, internalized and squip-related, intrusive/suicidal thoughts + abuse tws
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 22:10:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12263061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caswell/pseuds/caswell
Summary: The thoughts that plague Jeremy's mind are too dark to say- until, of course, Michael delivers the good kush.





	Under the Influence

**Author's Note:**

> wow hey!!! my first bmc fic! i'm SUPER into this musical (and the book) holy shit  
> thanks to tumblr users watchmojodojo for the prompt (ily micha you horrible little woman) and flamemages for help with the weed shit cuz ya girl doesnt have a dealer yet!!!!! still not sure if i did it right but whatever!

Things never really get better right away. There are relapses, like potholes in a road left to crumble. There are moments of hope, and there are moments of sadness and desperation strong enough to knock Jeremy onto his (metaphorical) ass. He doesn't know what kind of a day it'll be when his palm hits the alarm clock in the morning, and getting out of bed feels like stepping onto a frozen lake. Some days, the ice holds. Other days, deep, dark water floods his lungs and it takes all his strength to tread water- to get through the day.

When he got out of the hospital, Jeremy had promised himself that he'd never let anyone make up his mind for him again. He can tune out the voices of the people around him now, his friends’ dumb advice and strangers' judgemental whispers that had begun to start up again now that he'd slipped back down a couple rungs on the social ladder. The thing is… the voices that bother him the most aren't from the outside but the  _ inside _ . They don't all come from the SQUIP; it isn't completely dead- deactivated?- but it isn't strong enough to bother him much anymore. The voices are his own. Sometimes they're remixes of old insults from old bullies-  _ Jesus Christ, Jeremy, you're fucking pathetic _ .  _ Ugly little lameass. _ Those are bearable, since it's not anything he hasn't heard before- awful, sure, and a drag, but bearable. It's the ones that come at night that plague him more deeply.

Jeremy stares at his reflection in the mirror dully. He'd only come in the bathroom to take a piss before returning to his laptop for some mindless flash games and social media as he wound down for bed, but he'd found himself caught up in his appearance again. He leans in towards the glass, scrutinizing the acne and scars that dot his face. “Jesus, I'm a mess,” he mutters, and almost tries to leave, but his body won't let him, drawn to the medicine cabinet behind the mirror.  _ You know,  _ says his own voice at the back of his skull,  _ there are so many pills in there, Jer.  _ The thoughts at night come half in words, half in images, and one appears in his mind’s eye now: a pill bottle full of water washing down a handful of painkillers, and another, and another-

Jeremy's hand involuntarily flies up to his throat, and he chokes before he realizes that it's not real, it's only in his head, it's only a thought. Funny, he'd never thought of suicide before the business with the SQUIP, but the idea had started to sink its claws into his brain. He's not quite used to the experience yet. Releasing his throat finally, Jeremy curls his hands into fists, pressed against the surface of the vanity.  _ Yeah, no kidding,  _ he thinks pointedly at himself in the mirror.  _ You almost fucked over the whole school, broke your best friend's heart, made your dad worry himself half to death _ … “Face the facts, Jeremiah Heere,” he mutters, closing his eyes tight. “The world would be a little better without you.”

Worryingly enough, it's getting to be a pattern, and he expects it every night. Do nothing and beat himself up about wasting time, brush his teeth or take a quick shower or something and get stuck in the bathroom fixating on his looks, have a self esteem crash, get reminded of how terrible he is, think about killing himself, fall asleep feeling empty inside, rinse and repeat the next night. The scary part is, Jeremy's not sure just how much is the intrusive thoughts and how much is the way he actually feels. He's not sure which ratio would be best. It all pretty much just fucking sucks.

Not having the energy to haul his laptop up from the floor again- yes, he's aware that that's pathetic- Jeremy grabs his phone from his nightstand once he climbs back into bed. Narrowing his eyes against the harsh artificial light, he turns the brightness down, then stares at the screen for a moment.  _ I just don't want to do this anymore,  _ he thinks to himself, and, for some reason, that realization is enough to draw tears to his eyes. Of  _ course  _ he doesn't! He hates living like this, and he hates how he can't tell anyone because it's his fault in the first place, and he just dragged everyone down into it. He can't even tell Michael, poor fucking Michael, his  _ best friend _ Michael, because what kind of asshole cries to someone about how guilty they are over hurting them? He's pretty sure he's read that that's emotional manipulation- the last thing he'd want to do, especially considering that he's been there now. Still, before Jeremy is even conscious of it, he's typing out a message to Michael.  _ Come over after school tomorrow?  _ he asks simply.

It's late for school night, 1am, so he doesn't really expect Michael to respond. Jeremy's drifted almost completely off to sleep when Michael's text tone sounds. He has a special one, of course, a randomly-chosen sound effect from some retro game that he can't quite remember the name of in his half-awake state. Though he's happy to hear from Michael- and hopefully the other boy would believe it- he groans as he reaches for the phone and pulls it towards him. “C’mon, I was almost asleep,” he says, words muffled by the pillow. Still, he smiles when he reads,  _ ya sure dude.  _ It's curt compared to the messages he's sent in the past, but it's a yes, and Jeremy is too exhausted to panic about it for once. He blinks as another message pops up on the screen:  _ go to sleep tho.  _ Jeremy snorts and whispers “Hypocrite.” before tossing the phone aside. It falls on the floor with a  _ thunk,  _ restarts itself, and lingers like that for a minute or two until the screen shuts off.

 

Jeremy loves his new, more popular friends, truly he does… but even though their minds were quite literally linked together for a time, the intimacy still isn't there. They all care about him, yeah, but it's not organic, only forged through trauma. Still, they're who he's been going to ever since that autumn, not because he prefers them to Michael but because, frankly, he's terrified. Jeremy knows he's only making it worse, but he can't help avoiding Michael, or walking on eggshells when they do talk. Their deep nighttime conversations have disappeared; it's as if there's an invisible wall between them. He thinks about it every day, because all he wants is forgiveness and for everything to be normal again, but he can't even begin to find the words to apologize. 

Jeremy's heart falls into his stomach as he arrives in the cafeteria- Michael is sitting on the far side, near the wall, looking so painfully alone, but Rich and Chloe and the others are right there, waving him over. He can feel his face going red, as it does every time he faces a conflict, because he's  _ such a dumbass, goddamn, dude.  _ Finally, with an apologetic look, he clutches his lunch tray tighter in his hands and heads over to Michael. He's hesitant, shuffling his feet, but eventually takes a seat next to his friend. (They're still friends… right?) Blessedly, Michael doesn't look angry or anything when he notices Jeremy, more like surprised, which is a little heartbreaking, but at least he's not mad at him. “Heya, Michael,” Jeremy greets him awkwardly, and Michael takes his headphones off, letting them hang around his neck. 

“Hey, buddy,” Michael says, less enthusiastic than before, but it's something. “What’s up? Something happen with your other friends?”

Jeremy winces.  _ Right, okay, so maybe he's a little ticked.  _ “Nah, dude,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows. “Just wanted to hang with my Player One.”

Michael bites the inside of his cheek; it's nigh imperceptible, but Jeremy notices anyway. With a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, he finally turns to Jeremy and says, “Cool! Uh… good to see you.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy breathes, nervous, “'s good to see you too. You still up for coming over later?”

“Sure am,” Michael says, and the ice in his voice melts a bit, much to Jeremy's relief. “I can give you a ride if you want.”

It could just be because Michael feels so far away, so unattainable, but Jeremy is inexplicably overwhelmed with the urge to hug him tight like nothing had ever happened. He can't, of course; he's burned that bridge, and it's still under construction- probably would be for months. All he ends up doing is nodding, saying, “Yeah, that'd be great, thanks.”

 

It isn't great.

Jeremy feels frozen in the passenger seat of Michael's PT Cruiser, hardly allowing himself to touch the fabric beneath his palms. It's not exactly that he feels unwelcome, because Michael offered, and he's talking a bit at least, but there's a tension in the air that climbs into Jeremy's chest and stays there, coiled up like a dragon on a pile of gold. He chuckles weakly at a half-heard joke, feeling himself take up too much space with just his  _ (ugly, embarrassing)  _ laugh. 

There's a stagnant silence in the air for a few moments before Michael says, “I know what you're doing, Jeremy.”

Jeremy blanches and subconsciously digs his nails into the fabric of his pants. “Um. What am I… doing.” It doesn't come out as a question so much as a statement, his affect blunted.  _ This was a bad idea. Fuck, he's gonna be so mad, I can't even blame him, I'm such a dick, Christ! _

“You're trying. I get it.” Michael speaks in short, clipped sentences, as if he's trying to restrain himself. “You're inviting me over to your house. Trying to act like normal. But you still aren't paying any attention or- or asking me about my day like you used to, or asking me what I'm listening to, or even acting like you give a singular remote shit about me. You don't even look like you wanna  _ be  _ here!” All of a sudden, the words come tumbling out, and with each one, Jeremy retreats into himself further, sinking down against the back of the seat as his blue cardigan rides up.

“I'm sorry,” he says simply, and he means it, but there's so many more things he wants to say.  _ I know I'm shit. I want to make it up to you, it's all I want to do and I can't believe I lost sight of who I am so much. But I don't want to guilt trip you into forgiving me and I'm so bad with words and, and…  _ “Look, I'll… I'll tell you about it when we get there, okay? I’ll explain everything, or I'll try, I just need to chi- um. Calm down.”

Michael takes a deep breath, holds it in for a tense few seconds, then exhales. “Got it. Well. Lucky for both of us, I've got the ultimate calm-down recipe.”

“Oh, sweet, you got pot?” Jeremy had only smoked a few times, and then only due to Michael’s insistence that it’d be good for him. It sounded suspiciously like peer pressure, but he was completely right- for a brief time, he wasn’t overcome with anxiety. He still usually turned down Michael’s offers, but this time, weed sounded like exactly what he needed- not to mention he can never keep tight lips when he’s high. 

“Yeah,” Michael says, coming to a halt at the side of the road near Jeremy’s house, “enough for both of us, in my backpack. But look,” he warns, “if you don’t spill, I gotta say, Jer, I’m gonna be kinda pissed.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Jeremy says quietly. What was he even going to say? He’s not good at voicing even the little things; when he thinks of maybe half a sentence explaining his feelings, his brain turns to static, and he shakes his head to clear it. Jeremy notices Michael staring at him with a raised eyebrow and hurriedly unbuckles himself, then hops out of the car. “C’mon, man. Let’s just try to have a good time.”

 

To Jeremy’s relief, it’s pretty fun at first. If you could ignore the chilly atmosphere, which was lessened, thankfully, by the weed, it was just like old friends hanging out. They're playing terribly, but it's entertaining anyway, making fun of each other’s failures and then promptly making the same ones. Plus, it makes finishing a level all the more rewarding. Eventually, though, Michael drops his controller, sinks further into his beanbag chair, and says, “So. Jeremy.”

“Michael.” Jeremy doesn’t take his bloodshot eyes from the television screen as he replies, setting his own controller aside. “...Michaelmiah.”

The nickname- reverse nickname? It’s longer than his real name- never fails to make Michael laugh, even now, and he gives a snort that, despite his protests, Jeremy’s always thought was kinda cute. “That’s not- that’s not what my name is short for!”

“Your name isn’t short for anything, Micha,” Jeremy giggles. “Fuckin’ dweeb.”

_ “You're _ the dweeb, dweeb,” Michael says, and promptly beans him with his controller- rather, he  _ attempts;  _ he narrowly misses, and it falls to the floor with a quiet  _ thump.  _ “Oh. Huh. Whoops.”

Jeremy cracks up at this, sticking one leg out and pulling one to his chest as he laughs. “Nice going, loser.” He laughs for half a second more before he freezes and looks over at Michael, realizing what he's said.  _ Oh, shit, wrong word, definitely the wrong word.  _ He hopes desperately that it went over his head, but the look Michael gives him tells him that it didn't. “Uh- Michael, I…”

“No! No, it's okay,” Michael says, but he's being facetious, Jeremy can tell, despite being quite stoned. “I mean, it's fine. Like, that's  _ fine.”  _

Jeremy's heart breaks a little in his chest, and he exhales.  _ Good Lord,  _ he thinks,  _ maybe the weed was a mistake. I thought you couldn't get depressed on weed. Maybe that’s just anxiety.  _ “Fuck. Um. Look, Michael. I think we need to talk.”

“That was the point of the weed, yes,” Michael says, and fixes Jeremy with a fuzzy yet expectant stare that he feels himself burning under.

Jeremy swallows sharply, wincing at the pain in his irritated throat- he, of course, is not quite as adept at smoking as Michael is, and spends a decent amount of time hacking his lungs up- and is silent for a few moments. “Okay, so, I owe you an apology. Like, I tried to at the play, and, I dunno,  _ maybe  _ that counts but… I owe you another one now.” He closes his eyes and leans back into a slump. “I’m sure you can tell that I’ve been…” Jeremy frowns and stares intently at his upturned palms. “I've been, um.”

“Avoiding me,” Michael finishes for him, and Jeremy nods. He slowly, thoughtfully runs a hand through his thick, dark hair, and it stirs something deep in Jeremy’s hazy mind, but he pushes it away and files it under “Shit I’ll deal with when I’m not high and also when life doesn’t suck, or maybe just when I’m not high because life always sucks but I won’t be high forever, although you never know, I guess.” Jeremy doesn’t realize Michael’s been talking again unless he finishes with, “...your SQUIP isn’t on.”

“Sorry, what?” Jeremy asks with a blink.

Michael sighs and repeats, “I just don’t get why you’re ignoring me again, because you apologized and said you wouldn’t anymore, and your SQUIP isn’t even on. I mean, Jeremy, I’d like to believe you wouldn’t lie about it, but…”

“I’ve been avoiding you because I’m scared,” Jeremy blurts out, and, if the bravery wasn't mostly fueled by marijuana, he'd be proud of himself. “I’m scared that you hate me, and that I don’t deserve you.”

“I mean… yeah,” Michael says, and, anxiety numbed by the weed, Jeremy instead tears up, tears brimming in his eyes as he looks at his… friend? This was what he was most afraid of: not being able to control his emotions, being a crybaby, accidentally guilting Michael into forgiving him… he forgot how easily he cries, especially when he’s high. “Oh, crap,” Michael says, and Jeremy looks curiously up at him through blurry eyes. “Look, okay, it’s not that you’ll  _ never  _ deserve me, and I’ll wait around, it’s just. Uh.” He pauses for a second, the gears in his head turning lazily as he decides what to say. “Uh… like, maybe you haven’t done enough yet. But I don’t hate you.”

“Then what can I do to deserve you?” Jeremy asks desperately. “How can I earn your forgiveness? You don’t know how much my life sucks without you.” When Michael looks at him with a look that says  _ Oh, really? I don't?, _ he backpedals. “Okay, I mean, like. Michael, buddy, I  _ need  _ you. I just don’t know how to say so.” Nearly losing his balance, he reaches across and takes Michael’s free hand in his- more content for the aforementioned Figure Out When I’m Sober file.

“Jer, it’s not that hard,” Michael says. “It might take a while, but Jesus, just… hang out with me, dude. Put me ahead of your other friends sometimes. Stop acting like you hate being around me, because at this point it’s hard for me to tell how much of it is fear and how much of it is ‘wow, actually, Michael is a huge loser, I was pretty much right’.”

Jeremy worries his lips, a nervous habit, and softly says, “I don’t know what will happen if I try to get close again.”

“What do you mean?” Michael asks, cocking his head to one side. “Nothing bad is going to happen. It’ll go back to normal if you let it. I mean, hell, this is progress! We haven’t gotten stoned in someone’s basement for months.”

“I think part of that is because-” Jeremy takes his hand from Michael’s and wipes his eyes, squinting at the stinging sensation it leaves- “because I always cry. But…” He fiddles with the hem of his shirt, still worrying his lip involuntarily. “I’ve been having these weird thoughts. I’ve been afraid constantly that I’m going to be hurt, but it’s okay because I kind of… want to be hurt? Because I deserve it?” Before Michael can get a dissenting word in, Jeremy awkwardly pulls his cardigan and shirt off, tossing them to the side. “See, I got, um, punished.”

“Jeremy, what’re you…?” Michael falls silent as Jeremy turns his back to him, and in a moment he can feel Michael’s index finger trace the outline of the thin, branched scars that run down along his spine. “Whoa, dude, where did these come from? Was it-”

“Yeah. It was.” Jeremy cuts Michael off before he can say its name. “It was, like, electroshock therapy, or something like that. And it’s not like it hurt  _ that  _ much, but it took me so long to figure out what it liked and what it didn’t, and the anticipation was. ...Bad.”

“So you think you’re going to get punished again if you hang out with me,” Michael says slowly, and Jeremy nods. “But the SQUIP is gone, isn’t it? Why are you so afraid?”

“I don't know. I'm stupid, I guess.” Jeremy's cold now, almost shivering in the chill of his basement, but he doesn't want to lose the gentle touch of Michael's fingers. “I just didn't want to tell you, because I didn't want to pressure you into forgiving me or anything. But I'm  _ scared,  _ Micha, I'm so sorry…”

“Jesus, Jer, if I'd have known…” Michael trails off and flattens his palm against Jeremy's back, between his shoulder blades. Jeremy breathes easier under his touch, allowing the tears to fall from his lashes. “Jeremy, I wouldn't have been half as mad at you if you'd just told me.”

“I'm sorry,” Jeremy repeats quietly. “I've just… been going through a lot.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Michael says. “I'm not gonna say everything's fine, 'cuz it's not, but I know you don't feel good right now. So just… take it easy. And look, you haven't been 'punished’ for this, right?”

“No,” Jeremy answers, “but it's still here a little. I mean, not right now, but sometimes I can hear it.” He frowns and leans back slightly into Michael's touch. “And now I think like it too. I don't know how to convince myself that I'm not a terrible person, or that I'm not ugly, or that I shouldn't, um.”

“'Um’?” Michael asks. Jeremy had hardly realized it, but he's leaned almost wholly against Michael now in an awkward yet comforting position, his back against Michael's chest and Michael's arms-  _ whoa, shit, when did  _ that  _ happen?-  _ wrapped around him to keep him steady. Michael's voice vibrates warmly against him as he continues, “Jeremy, what did it do to you?”

Jeremy thinks as long and hard as he can in his current inebriated state. Should he tell him? It could ruin everything, and he wanted to push it away, keep it all forced down, repress it like he'd tried to do with all of his old self. Now that those things about him were coming back, though… Before he can help it, the words are flowing from his mouth like a torrent of polluted water. “It told me that I was disgusting, that I had impure thoughts, that I shouldn't… be the way I am.”  _ Is this really the way I'm gonna do this?  _ “That I shouldn't, y’know, like guys.”

Michael tenses for a moment, and Jeremy is ready to start bawling, overcome with shame and self loathing. “How come I didn't know that about you?” Michael asks finally, and he doesn't sound disgusted or angry, at least, but still…

“Because I hated it about myself,” Jeremy answers. “I always did. But the SQUIP just made it worse, because it said I couldn't be cool if I… you know. And now I can't even think about it without someone in my head, I don't know if it's me or it, telling me that I'm disgusting for, for…”  _ For being in love with my best friend. _

“Sorry, you're what?” Michael asks, voice hushed. His grip around Jeremy loosens, and Jeremy frowns in confusion.

“I'm disgusting,” he repeats. “I mean, I really am, don't you think? Because-”

“No, that's- you said you're in love with your best friend.”

“...What.” Jeremy's voice is deadpan, muted; he feels his cheeks pricking with heat and blood. “Wh-  _ oh my GOD.”  _ This time the panic in his chest is too strong to be beaten out by the weed; he forces himself from Michael's arms and stumbles away on all fours. “Oh my God, I didn't mean to say that out loud,  _ fuck!”  _ Daring to turn around and look at his friend, Jeremy flinches as he sees a tear slide down the side of Michael's face. “Shit, Michael, I-”

“Jeremy, wait,” Michael commands, and Jeremy stops in his tracks, lips parted slightly, body somehow tense and limp at the same time. “It's okay, Jer.”

“No, it's _ not,”  _ Jeremy protests, waving his hands frantically back and forth. “It's gross! I- I- I mean look at you, you're crying!” 

“That's not why I'm crying, stupid,” Michael says with a sniff, and brushes the tear away with one thumb. “I just got a little emotional. C’mere, Jeremy. Listen.” He beckons him over with one hand, and Jeremy hesitantly edges back to him, but not close enough to touch. He gasps and almost thinks to struggle when Michael pulls him close, because it's selfish and gross, but then Michael runs a hand through his hair, and he relaxes into the touch and his heart pounds and he almost misses what comes next:  _ “I love you too.” _

“What?” Jeremy squeaks out in surprise. “Why? Since when?  _ What?” _

“Calm down, Jeremy,” Michael says. His hand falls to the back of Jeremy's neck, and he begins to rub small circles into his skin. “Look, I can be angry with you and still love you. I think that's part of why I  _ was  _ so angry. I just never thought you would love me back.”

“Why not?” Jeremy asks, voice trembling. “You're handsome, and… and smart, and unique, and I like your hair, and your style, and your body…”

“Because of the party…? Because of Christine?” Michael says it as if it's obvious, which… it is, Jeremy admits. “Even when I learned you didn't hate me, I… um, y'know, I thought you were super in love with Christine.”

“We had one date and it didn't work out,” Jeremy yawns. “Like… okay. She's adorable, and nice, and stuff, but like… we don't have any common interests. I'm happiest playing video games in my basement, and she's happiest on the stage.”

“Am I, like, a rebound, then?” Michael asks.

“I've been in love with you for so… so long, dude,” Jeremy says as he lays his head on Michael's shoulder. “Sure, Christine was a distraction, and I really liked her, but… I think I was just scared. No, Michael, you're not a rebound.”

“Don't be scared,” Michael murmurs, and runs his fingers through Jeremy's hair. “I understand. I get it. I hated myself too, but there's safety in numbers.”

“You're really okay with this?” Jeremy closes his eyes, relaxing under Michael's soothing fingers. “Even after I treated you so poorly? Even though I'm a guy?”

“What?” Michael quirks an eyebrow. “Jeremy, I'm gay, you  _ know  _ that.”

“Sorry. I still had to ask,” Jeremy mumbles, shame lessening now, a small weight lifted off his shoulders. “But look, Michael, I know the way I treated you was awful and I just don't  _ get  _ it, y’know? Like… I'm sad and, uh, really traumatized from everything, it's just, like… you are too, because of me?”

“Well, yeah,” Michael says, “but you're working to fix it. And you apologized… I think? You mostly said how shitty you are, but I got the message.”

Jeremy nods, and, allowing himself to indulge for a moment, leans his head back as Michael's nails start to scratch against his head. “Aw, 's like I'm a kitty,” he says, a note of smugness, but mostly contentment, in his voice.

“Don't ruin the moment, you fuckin’ furry,” Michael teases, and that's enough to get Jeremy to laugh again, giggling until he's out of breath.  _ Yep, definitely still high.  _

As Michael cracks up along with him, a low, breathy chuckle as a stark contrast to the high pitch of his own, Jeremy melts a little inside, and heat rises to his cheeks as he makes a realization. “Oh my God. Oh, my God, Michael, you like me back!” Jeremy cries, smile turning into a face-splitting grin. “Michael! That's great! My best friend is in love with me!”

“I know!” Michael says, matching Jeremy's grin. “Isn't it amazing?” He takes one of Jeremy's slender hands in his, holding it close to his chest.

“So what're we gonna do about it, man?” Jeremy asks. Clumsily, he adjusts himself so he's facing Michael head-on. “Like, we like each other, what now? Nobody's ever liked me back, except, I guess, Christine.”

Holding a finger pensively to his lips, Michael thinks for a minute- literally- before finally answering, “Well, we're both pretty- pretty stoned. We should probably wait to make any big decisions.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy agrees reluctantly. “Wow, you're always the smart one, even when you're high. Wish I was as smart as you.”

“Shh, you're smart, Jer.” Michael coaxes Jeremy into his arms; smiling, nuzzles his face into the crook of Michael's neck.  _ You smell like artificial cheese flavoring,  _ he thinks.  _ I wanna stay here forever,  _ he thinks.  _ I love you,  _ he thinks.

He  _ says,  _ “If we can't talk about us, can we just kiss a little? Am I good?”

And Michael kisses him. Just like that.

It's awkward- that goes without saying. Jeremy's never been a great kisser, and it's Michael's first, and there are glasses in the way, but eventually those find their way off of Michael's face, and Jeremy holds the back of his head and pulls him close… and it's soft. It's soft, and quiet, and shy, and Jeremy melts in it. At a later, particularly emotional time that he only dreams of now, he'd go on to describe it as magical. For now, all Jeremy can say is, “...Wow.”

“Wow, huh?” Michael echoes. His hair's been messed up by Jeremy's gentle but firm grip, and he's beaming, lids lowered as he looks at Jeremy like he puts the stars in the sky. Of course, the look won't stay; it  _ can't  _ stay, because things aren't fixed, but for now, he can be selfish, right?

“Yeah,” Jeremy says, almost inaudible, “wow.”

 

Things don't get better right away. The threat of relapse hangs over their heads like the sword of Damocles, fear of shock treatment and of betrayal and breakdowns in bathrooms; it’s stifling sometimes. They wait, try to fix things before becoming an  _ item,  _ not wanting to crash and burn and end up in a darker place than where they started. Despite all this, the love between Michael and Jeremy is something they hold close to their hearts, playing and replaying their single solitary kiss like a visual mantra in their minds on the deepest darkest days and waiting for the day that they could be together.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!!! thanks for reading my garbage! I love you!!!!!!


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